Crown. It felt like a crown of thorns. Wide, startled green-flecked eyes. Always wide. Heart. Beat. Her heartbeat overwhelmed her ears. So loud, so loud, so loud. Surely others could hear it. But they weren't listening. They never were. But the constant metronome pounded in her head and she tried so desperately, so so desperately, to ignore it.
A young, sweet, child knelt before her. Or, more accurately, a young sweet child knelt before her husband. A small peasant whose body was ravaged with hunger. Tall, male, armoured guards flanked either side of the child, holding her down harshly.
She couldn't listen to what her heart was saying about this child.
Because she had to ignore it. She had to. If she wanted to be worthy of the attention, the affection, the validation he gave her, she had to ignore it. She had to be quiet both inside and outside. If she wanted to be worthy of him, to be worthy of this world, to be worthy of anything at all.
He might decide to kill her. Or torture her. Or maybe both. But she had to trust him.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't anyways, the grip of the corset constantly, silently painfully embraced her. But she definitely couldn't breathe now. Everything inside her was screaming at her, that this wasn't how it should be.
And she couldn't be thinking that. She couldn't.
Her long, silky hair framed the sides of her vision with blood red. The dark mahoganies, raging golds, plush pinks, creamy yellows and unnatural greens of the arid hall pressed, pressed, pressed into her. Blaring. Glaring. Suffocating and terrifying yet keeping her still, trapped in place. Reminding her of how Phillipe's body pressed into her at night when she knew she had no reason not to welcome it.
This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. She was desperate to speak those words but she kept silent. She .... she had to. She had no business talking in the matters of the court. Not if she wanted a place there. Not if she wanted a place anywhere. Not if she wanted a place with anyone. Not if she wanted a place in this world.
Her heart pounded faster.
Girl. The tiny, scraggly, terrified being in front of her was a girl. She was a girl too, albeit an older one. They were two girls. There was a difference though. This girl was thin to the point that it was worrisome. Dark, curly hair matted in a scraggly mop over her head. Thin. Aching. Eyes welling with tears. Eyes full of pain. Full of hunger. So much hunger. Her eyes were full of me sores that threatened to destroy her from the inside out.
She looked over at the tall, gold-haired man sitting across from her. His ornate, twisting crown and his hair melting together. Tall and plump and looking like someone who'd never had to work a day in his life and never had to go to bed hungry even a single night. That's what he was though.
This man is my light. My life. He was the key to my virtue. She reminded herself these lessons. She so desperately tried, these past few years, to make herself believe this was true. But it wasn't, she knew this somewhere in the back of her mind. But he was her man. Her man. And what was a girl without her man?
The polished floor in front of her glowed softly like ice in the twilight. Like ice both she and the younger girl were trapped in.
The commoner girl in front of her had dark brown eyes, the slightest bit of red in her hair. And dear Lord she had curls. She was being held down by the two armoured guards beside her, forced to kneel. And yet she was trying to get up. She was struggling. Defiant still. She was a commoner standing before the king, looking him in the eye, and holding her head up. Defiant still. In the face of certain destruction. Her eyes burned with unbreakable confidence. Confidence that was so strange because it made her feel more confident too, not the other way around. Common people ... maybe they weren't so low after all.
A servant woman, thin and blonde and in pearls and terrified, handed King Phillipe a sky-blue bowl of creme brûlée topped with raspberry flavoured cream. His pace was slow and controlled, greedy, as he plunged his thick-handled, solid spoon into the soft and delicate flesh of the creme brûlée which soundlessly parted as he pushed in, ravenously.
The child-girl stared yearningly, longingly as the sent of sugar wafted through the room. She was starving, and this was food. Right in front of her, so close. Her wide doe eyes were overcome with hunger as she fixated on the bowl. It was the type of food she could never hope to afford in her life. She seemed so so so hungry at that moment, so so longing, and the sheer unfairness of it all nearly broke the red-haired girl on the plush silver chair. The curly-haired youth was trembling almost, at the sight of how easily, how greedily, the king was allowed to eat. And yet, though everything inside her seemed to be panting, she didn't lose the sense of power she had. This child was utterly powerless in front of the king and yet held a deeper, stronger power than the queen knew was possible.
The red haired girl so desperately wanted to say something. Something deep inside her, deeper than her bones, ached to do something. It was wrong. She wanted to wrest the bowl out of Phillipe's hands and kneel beside the child and make sure she fucking ate. She needed this. She was a young, starving, third-estate girl. And it wasn't fair that he should be eating creme brûlée when others couldn't afford bread.
But no. She couldn't let her emotions rule her. It was not her place. Not her place to do anything. It was his place to pass judgement. But she did cast a wide-eyed, pleading, almost desperate look towards her man. Please let her go, she silently begged him.
He looked at her with accusing eyes, clearly unimpressed at this show of opinion. She reminded herself to be demure, unassuming, ladylike. To not have opinions.
His lips twisted around the gilded silver of his spoon and the desert vanished into his dark maw, bits of syrup dripping onto his chin as he stared contemptuously.
"So. Little low-born, squalid peasant bitch. You think you can steal from the Royal fucking granary and face no consequences? You don't know your place, you rebellious little maggot. You don't know your goddamn place." The king spoke with the type of authority in his voice only kings can speak with.
The girl with the curly dark hair stared him dead in the eyes. The girl with the blood-coloured hair wondered how the young, dying child could find so much bravery within her. Unimaginable bravery. Yet not only had this child imagined it, this child believed in it and embraced it. And the child inspired the older child to be braver. She sparked something in her that made her soul yearn for the type of unbreakable courage the other girl had.
But no. Her loyalties lied with her husband, not with this peasant. Unless...
"You are down here." He stomped the floor with his fur-trimmed shoe. "And I am up here!" He raised one arm to the ceiling.
"You! Down here! Me! Up here!" He repeated those words and gestures a few times.
The red headed girl with lips stained a similar red shade fixated on the scrawny, tiny person in front of her. So defiant. So brave. So strong. All of the things the wilder part of her longed to be. She had no power whatsoever in this situation, yet the way she held her head high anyways was more powerful than anything she could've imagined.
"I'll let you live until Christmas. Then, I'll lock you in the walled garden outside. And I'll just ... watch ... you ... freeze."
The queen's hearts stopped in her throat. She couldn't believe his cruelty. But honestly, part of her wasn't surprised. Her heart wasn't. Her soul wasn't. But so, she continued to suppress those parts of herself.
The younger girl was shaking violently now.
"Please no," she begged. Tears fell from her eyes and ran down her face. But she had been a theif and an outlaw, and Phillipe had passed his judgement, so surely this was what should be. Unless ... unless it wasn't.
"Take her to the dungeons."
"Please!" the child desperately cried out. She looked, not at the king, but at the queen. Desperately, yet hopefully, as if the younger girl she was waiting for the older girl to save her. Why? the redhead thought. Why does she think I could possibly save her? Why is she pinning her hopes on me? But she was. The other girl was pinning her hopes on her in the way only young people could.
And the older girl's heartbeat was deafening in her hears. And she listened to it. For the first time in her life she listened to it.
"No!" the young woman stated, loudly and surely and authoritatively. The king was so surprised, he didn't know what to do. The guards were surprised. She swept down from her throne, skirt bunched up in her fists in the most unladylike manner. She picked up the child and strode into the kitchen. Everyone just stood, awestruck.
"Don't worry. Don't worry." The child clung to her and she stroked her tangled hair. She set the child down on a plush downy sofa and gathered the heartiest stews and steaks and set them down on a plate in front of her. She got a tall glass of warm, honey-infused milk and did the same. Finally, she got a large slice of sweet berry pie so the child could have a burst of energy after that ordeal. It was a meal so large society would never have given it to a peasant. It was a meal so large society would've never given it to a girl. But this starving, dying, rebel child deserved it.
"Eat. You must eat."
"Thank you." The girl dug down with desperation and dedication. After licking the silver plate clean and draining the last bits of milk, she stared at the redhead, terrified. They both stared at each other with the type of fear only those who know they're damned feel.
"Um.... what's your name?" the child asked.
"Anne. You?"
"Lillian."
This castle was too cavernous and crawling with guards to escape. Anne knew this because part of her mind had always been looking for escape routes these past few years.
Lillian was going to die no matter what. But Anne was going to die with her now. But Anne was happy. Because Anne was going to die free and defiant and utterly herself. And Lillian would have a hand to hold and kind words and someone to cling to and the knowledge that she was supported. And though they didn't know it, their act of bravery and defiance would one day stoke the flames of a revolution once thought impossible.
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